


Immorality

by kittiewonder



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Multi, References to Suicide, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittiewonder/pseuds/kittiewonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxas rolled his eyes so hard it almost made him dizzy. What a stupid question. He was tired, he was drunk, and he was definitely a little high. Of course he didn’t have it memorized. He wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.</p><p>A modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immorality

**Author's Note:**

> After losing 12 chapters of progress on this when my laptop was ruined, my confidence was seriously shot. It took a long time, but my inspiration hit again, so I'm finally rewriting it. It's really slow going but I've got most of it mapped out. Chapters will be longer in the future, and I have no beta at the moment, so please excuse any mistakes. I'm trying to catch as many as I can.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dirty converse slapped the streets as he stepped off the curb and rounded the corner. A blindingly white sign lit up the block, and Roxas rolled his eyes. _The Castle. What a stupid fucking name._ It fit, though. After all, it was a stupid fucking place.

Of course, he probably wasn’t allowed to complain, since it was one step up from a park bench downtown on the very short list of places he could afford to stay, with the added bonus of there being a slightly lower chance of him getting mugged, groped, or some weird combination of the two. (There was a serious emphasis on the slightly part.) There weren’t many options for someone who was out of work, out of friends, and out of the motivation to make something of his piece of shit life. All of the ambitious genes of the family had gone to his brother, and when Roxas was born, the only things left for him to take were blonde hair, blue eyes, and a bad case of bad luck.

He supposed the option of staying with Sora was always open. Of course, so was the option of putting a gun in his mouth.

His brother was perfect, in every sense of the word. He married a perfectly beautiful woman who made perfectly cooked meals that they would eat together in their perfectly clean kitchen. His perfect job paid for his perfect house, with a perfect lawn and a perfect fucking little dog who’s shit probably smelled like fucking roses. Sora’s life was so stupidly picturesque that it made Roxas want to scream. Not because he envied him, but because seriously? Who actually lives like that?

When Sora moved out, Roxas had known his time was short. And sure enough, a few weeks later, he’d come home to a box on the front lawn with his name on it. He was thankful at least that they’d let him keep the car. The fact that it was stolen two short weeks later was besides the point. The only reason he had it in the first place was because Sora got in an accident and he needed a pretty new one. (The accident wasn’t Sora’s fault, by the way. A drunk driver T-boned him on his way through an intersection and ended up flipping his car. In the end, Sora managed to drag himself out from under the car, crawl over to the other vehicle, pull the man away from the burning wreckage and help him get to a hospital, all while suffering from two broken ribs. Saint fucking Sora.) Roxas was convinced that the only reason his parents had tolerated him as long as they did was because he made their platinum child shine that much brighter by comparison. Sora won first place in a gardening show, and Roxas smoked pot on the weekends. Sora got a full scholarship to the local university, and Roxas barely finished high school. Sora got married, and Roxas had sex and sold drugs for money. Funny how things worked out.

 _The Castle_ was an old five-story hotel turned apartment complex, bought out by some big shot who’d decided to renovate it. For as cheap as it was, it could have been a lot worse. (Phrases like that were an ongoing mantra in his life.) The first floor had once been a lobby overlooked by a large front desk. Now, it was broken up into a kitchen and a dining area, and the front desk had been transformed into a bar filled with enough alcohol to get each of the thirteen residents absolutely smashed for at least two weeks straight. He didn’t know who kept it stocked, but he wasn’t complaining. A set of mailboxes hung against the wall opposite a sealed basement door, shoved in a dead-end hallway almost as an after-thought. A narrow stairwell hugged one wall, neighboring an elevator that would take him absolutely nowhere without a key.

Roxas resided on the second floor with five other residents, most of whom he’d never seen. The hardwood floors were covered in a scratchy brown wall-to-wall carpet, and the walls were dressed in wood paneling and dull green wallpaper. He’d learned as soon as he moved in just how thin the walls actually were; he’d also learned that the woman in apartment 12 _loved_ her blender, watched a lot of BBC America, and spent quite a few hours of the day screaming at her boyfriend. Whether it was about his downfalls or because his cock was so far inside her it was actually hitting her vocal cords, Roxas wasn't always sure.

When he signed his lease, he’d been given a quick, half-assed explanation of the layout of the rest of the building. The third floor held four apartments, slightly bigger in size than his own. The remaining levels were accessible only by elevator; the fourth floor housed two residents, and the top floor was a penthouse that he’d sure as hell never see the inside of. But that was okay with him. He preferred it that way. The less he had to see of anyone else, the better. He wasn’t living there to make friends; he'd rather avoid that at all costs. He was living there so he wouldn’t get _stabbed in his sleep_.

As he got inside, Roxas stumbled over the threshold of the front door and nearly dropped the bag of doughnuts and the small carton of milk he was carrying. Leaning against the door frame to steady himself, he took a breath and rolled his eyes. He’d only had a shot or two. Or eight. And even if it was vodka, he was losing his touch for sure.

It was quiet. That was reassurring. He walked through the low arch and into the kitchen. The past few times he’d braved the community area, he’d found it wonderfully empty. Now though, he wasn’t so lucky. Leaning against the counter was a slender man clad in black, spooning colorful puffs of cereal into his mouth from a small plastic bowl. The pallor of his skin stood in stark contrast to the mane of fiery red hair that fell to his shoulders in sharp and messy layers. And, of course, he was standing right next to the fridge. The introvert inside Roxas screamed at him to buy a fucking mini-fridge like he kept meaning to do. 

Roxas held his breath, panic seizing his frame. If he stayed quiet, maybe he could back-

“I don't know you.”

_Well, shit._

Cringing, he took a deep breath and braced himself before tearing his gaze from the floor. Startling green eyes, framed with a thin layer of black makeup, regarded him curiously. Roxas tried to say "yeah" and "no" at the same time and it came out, brilliantly, "Yo." He squeezed his eyes shut. 

It took a lot of focus to make it across the room without stumbling. As he neared the fridge, the man stepped directly in his path. Which was just fantastic. He wasn't an idiot. He knew someone would corner him eventually. He’d just hoped it would have happened when he was less nauseous and maybe a little more sober. He'd also hoped it would have been someone who looked like maybe they were kind of normal and not some punked out weirdo who chewed with his mouth open.

“You live in 13,” the man said, setting his bowl down on the counter so he could stand in the way less distractedly./p>

It wasn’t a question, but Roxas answered anyway. “Moved in last week." 

"Yeah. I'm across the hall. I watched you move in."

_Well, wasn't that justcharming and not completely creepy at all._

Those green eyes never wavered, and the man crossed his arms over his chest. Clearly he wanted some kind of response.

_Okay. Say something that isn't stupid._

"I had boxes." _Smooth._ "Can you move?"

A smile tugged at the edges of the man's lips. “What’s your name?”

"Roxas." He gritted his teeth. "Move.”

But he didn't, and it is just _really_ irritating when someone smiles as they're blatantly ignoring you. If he had to spend any more time with this man, and he sorely hoped he didn't, he guessed he would find he was the kind of person who liked being contrary just because. This close, Roxas noticed two small tattoos, shaped like upside-down purple teardrops on his cheeks and _who actually gets tattoos on their face?_

And, side note, fuck him for being so tall.

“Good to know. My name is Axel. A-X-E-L. Got it memorized?”

Roxas rolled his eyes so hard it almost made him dizzy. What a stupid question. He was tired, he was drunk, and he was definitely a little high. Of course he didn’t have it _memorized_. He wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.

“Yeah, whatever. Get the fuck out of my way.”

Axel watched him for a moment longer, eyes sparkling with amusement while Roxas contemplated homicide, until he finally stepped aside.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, he set the bag of doughnuts down and cleared some space in the crowded fridge for his milk. Determinedly, he took a marker from his pocket and wrote his name on the carton in bold black letters before closing the door. When he turned, Axel was leaning casually in the archway.

“You know, no one's gonna to care if your name is on that.” He was smiling again, and Roxas rubbed his temples.

“Figured it was worth a try.”

Axel examined his nails thoughtfully. “In fact, I drink straight from the carton. Hope you don’t mind.”

“What the fuck is your - "

“Anyway, thanks for the doughnut. See you around.” He pushed off the wall and headed up the stairs, whistling cheerfully to himself, leaving Roxas with his mouth hanging open in confusion. His brain felt like it was swimming, and it took him a moment to figure out what just happened. His eyes fell to the bag of doughnuts. The staple had been removed, and when Roxas counted them out, he was one short.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me."

* * *

 


End file.
